


Punks Don't Cry

by Spirit_Howl



Series: A Life In Music [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:53:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit_Howl/pseuds/Spirit_Howl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus' missing years following the events of 'Glam Punks'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See the Man in the Electric Chair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingwillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwillow/gifts).



> A big thank you to writingwillow for her lovely comments on 'Glam Punks', which motivated me to get going on the sequel.

They say the first war ended on the 31st of October 1981, but that is not strictly true. To accept that date as the end of the war is to forget the Longbottoms, tortured to insanity the day after by a group of Death Eaters unwilling to accept that their fight was over. It is to forget Caradoc Dearborn, who vanished into thin air one cold January day, never to be seen again. 

The first Remus knew of it though was when a couple of Greyback’s betas came to his tent uninvited and dragged him out for a public confrontation with their leader.

‘Looks like you got your wish, runt,’ Greyback addressed him. Remus could do no more than stare at him in utter incomprehension.

‘War is over and the status quo remains. The Dark Lord has been defeated and we wolves will undoubtedly continue to be spat upon. You can go back to your fake little life in your nice townhouse with your loving boyfriend. ’ Greyback smiled before delivering the cutting blow. ‘Oh, except you can’t,’ he concluded with a sneer.

‘What are you talking about?’ Remus spat back. Greyback said nothing, simply handing him a copy of the Evening Prophet from the 31st of October. Remus could scarcely believe what he was seeing. There, right in front of him was a picture of a sleeping baby that the paper insisted was Harry Potter, vanquisher of Voldemort. Remus had never met the boy, who had spent his entire life up until now in hiding while Remus fought the war on so many fronts, both here and in his own bed. Looking at the dark hair growing wild on his head, he could well believe this was James Potter’s child, and when the sleeping baby in the image woke, it was to smile at him with Lily’s twinkling eyes. Remus read on. He forgot how to breathe when the paper calmly recounted how his friends had been found dead, as if their passing was insignificant, a necessary sacrifice for peace. Remus read on and felt as if his own life had been ended when the journalist continued, still in that same cold, factual tone, to tell of Sirius Black the traitor, Sirius Black the murderer. For not only were the Potters dead, but so was Peter Pettigrew, killed right in the middle of the street as he stood up to Sirius for the first and final time.

‘Who knew, eh?’ Greyback teased. ‘The werewolf lover was a true Black after all.’

Later, Remus would say he did not know what came over him, but that was a lie. It was rage. Rage at the myriad ways in which the monster in front of him had ruined his life, rage at the Prophet for their indifference to his suffering. He fought Greyback with all he had, with arms and teeth and legs, letting go of over fifteen years of restraint in search of a moment of relief from the pain welling up inside. It did not last long, magic and his own lifelong resistance to his body’s capacity for violence had made him soft and he was no match for Greyback, for whom this form of wild combat was an almost daily occurrence. 

Greyback smirked down at him where he lay, exhausted, on the ground.

‘Now go, you serve no purpose here,’ he informed Remus. Remus did not need telling twice, merely taking a moment to catch his breath before consenting to be escorted back to his tent. Greyback’s men watched him as he packed and went with him to the edge of the camp to ensure he did not come back. They need not have worried: Remus disapparated away as soon as he was clear of the camp.

There was only one place he could think to go in search of the answers his broken heart demanded. Back to Hogwarts and all its memories to confront his old headmaster, because nobody else this side of the war had a greater understanding of the dark, hidden desires of those who claimed to be good.

He landed outside the Shrieking Shack and, overcome by his injuries and emotional turmoil, promptly fainted, coming to hours later inside the school infirmary with the curtains pulled around his bed and Dumbledore in attendance. 

‘Did you know?’ Remus asked as soon as he remembered how his voice was meant to work.

‘That Sirius was the traitor? No, I thought it might have been- but we must not speak ill of the dead,’ Dumbledore interrupted himself.

‘Peter? You thought it might have been him?’ Remus pounced, lifting his upper body up from the bed in order to be at eye level with the headmaster. The desire, this physical need to blame anyone but his Padfoot consumed him, even if he had not been his, not really, not in over a year.

‘I did. I am afraid to say I campaigned to be made Secret Keeper when it looked like the Potters were considering him instead of Sirius,’ Dumbledore confessed.

‘So it could have been Peter who betrayed James and Lily?’ Remus insisted.

‘And then faked his death in front of a street full of muggles? Be reasonable, Remus,’ Dumbledore admonished him. 

‘Muggles you say? How convenient. I suppose they’ve all been obliviated by now so couldn’t possibly tell us whose wand it was that killed all those people.’ 

‘Peter was heard accusing Sirius of murdering the Potters before the explosion, but yes, the witnesses have had their memories wiped clean, as is standard Ministry procedure when dealing with muggles,’ Dumbledore confirmed.

‘Tell me they at least took their wands for testing? When is the trial?’ Remus asked, getting more and more agitated. He assumed Dumbledore must have cast a silencing charm because nobody, not even Madam Pomfrey came to tell them to keep their voices down.

‘There will be no trial, Remus. Pettigrew’s accusation and subsequent decimation, together with the eyewitness reports are enough to convict Black according to our laws,’ Dumbledore reminded him.

‘I heard all they found of Peter was his finger. Could he have splinched himself in his hurry to get away?’ Remus suggested.

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Remus, I know it must be devastating to think you are all alone once more and that someone as close to you as Black was is responsible, but you must accept it seems to be the most likely scenario.’

‘What about Harry?’ Remus asked, suddenly reminded of the other person whose life had been destroyed on Halloween.

‘He is safe and well. I have come to an understanding with Petunia Dursley and she will raise him until he is of an age to come to Hogwarts.’

‘Petunia?’ Remus repeated incredulously. ‘She hates everything we stand for! You can’t send him there. I’ll take him, I’ll figure something out for the fulls.’

‘What do you know about raising a child, Remus? It is my understanding that you have never even met Harry,’ Dumbledore pointed out.

Remus bowed his head in reluctant acknowledgement of the truth. 

‘I think it would be in Harry’s best interest to avoid the limelight and accompanying expectations that will surely plague him as soon as he re-enters magical society for as long as possible. Furthermore, I believe that before she died, Lily Potter placed a protective charm over Harry using blood magic which ultimately saved him. You are aware that Voldemort tried and failed to cast the killing curse on the boy?’ Dumbledore asked him.

‘That’s what the Prophet says,’ Remus confirmed.

‘I suspect that Lily cast a protective blood spell and as such, as long as he stays with Petunia, Voldemort cannot hurt Harry,’ Dumbledore explained.

‘So what do I do now?’ Remus asked as he sank back onto his bed, defeated.

‘You catch up on your sleep and let Madam Pomfrey take care of you. You have amassed quite a collection of injuries,’ Dumbledore noted.

‘Parting gifts courtesy of one Fenrir Greyback,’ Remus explained.

Remus swore Dumbledore looked ashamed. ‘I should have sent someone to get you out sooner, but what with the Potters and the Longbottoms too-’

‘Alice and Frank are dead?’ Remus exclaimed, interrupting him. He did not remember reading about them in the article Greyback had shown him.

‘No, not dead. They were tortured by a group of Death Eaters yesterday and are currently in St Mungo’s. From what Augusta Longbottom has told me, it is unlikely that they will ever be allowed out,’ Dumbledore admitted.

Remus did not know what to say. They might have won the war, but victory felt hollow when he looked at the costs incurred by innocents such as Harry and the Longbottoms' young son. 

Eventually, Dumbledore excused himself and Madam Pomfrey came in to ask how he was feeling before administering another dose of the sleeping draught. He woke again midway through the third of November, the second verse of The Exploited’s ‘Dead Cities’ playing in his head and tears streaming down his face.

‘Happy birthday, Sirius,’ he whispered.


	2. Keep Coming Up With Love But It's So Slashed and Torn

With the November full moon just over a week away, Madam Pomfrey insisted he stay under her supervision in the Hogwarts infirmary. Only twice was he allowed to venture out: one brief, uncomfortable trip to Kilmarnock to say goodbye to Peter where he could feel people’s eyes watching him suspiciously and hear the many voices whispering ‘he was Black’s lover, didn’t you know?’ when they thought he could not hear them; the second time was to Godric’s Hollow. 

Dumbledore had arranged everything, Petunia seemingly unwilling or unable to organise the burial of her sister and brother-in-law. Here too the whispers followed him. He said nothing in his own defence, because it was the truth. He resented the insinuation that he must have known Sirius was the traitor, because part of him still refused to believe it. Remus could think of nothing that would induce Sirius to return to the Black family fold and join the organisation that had killed his baby brother, nothing that would persuade him to hurt James, whose own family had taken him in when Sirius thought he had lost everything. There had been no mark on his arm to give away his status as they lay in bed on those in-between nights where they were no longer together but neither was willing to let go. Short of legilimency, Remus was at a loss as to how he was supposed to have known when no-one else had either. 

Part of him wanted to scoff at the inscription Dumbledore had chosen. Death had never been Remus’ enemy, not when he had thought he would be the first of his friends to go. To him, death appeared as a release from the earthly torment of his dual nature and he would welcome it with open arms when it finally came for him. He had mourned the loss of his mother, as he now grieved at the death of his friends, but still death did not scare him. If anything, his longing for it had grown stronger. He conceded that Lily and James, both of whom had more faith than he, would have taken comfort in the idea that life went on after death, whether it be in Lily’s peaceful afterlife or James’ rebirth into a higher being less prone to arrogance. There was no doubt in Remus’ mind that his friends deserved such fates. He was not sure that the monster inside him would allow him the same, and to his shame he found he did not want it if it meant an eternity without Sirius. 

Madam Pomfrey, perhaps aware of these thoughts, insisted he be allowed to take the wolfsbane potion, afraid that in his current state the wolf might create levels of damage she would not be able to repair. The wolfsbane meant that his human mind resisted the wolf’s insistence that he let it rip him to shreds, if only because if he died, there would be no-one left who cared enough to find out what had really happened on Halloween. So instead he survived to spend a few more days in the infirmary, listening to ‘Under Pressure’ on a radio one of the younger wolves had pilfered for him and thinking he should buy Sirius a copy as a belated birthday present. His father called to enquire about his health and Remus reassured him he was fine and that Lyall need not come up to Scotland on his account.

Two days after the full moon, Dumbledore must have persuaded Poppy to let him have visitors because he was surprised to find Alastor Moody hobbling in through the curtains that kept him out of sight of students.

‘Hello, lad,’ the auror greeted him gruffly.

‘Hello,’ Remus responded automatically, not quite believing the sight before his eyes.

‘Dumbledore tells me you’ve been agitating about getting Black a trial,’ Moody informed him.

‘It’s only fair, isn’t it?’

Moody huffed. ‘Fair’s got nothing to do with it. Crouch has made up his mind. We’re bringing in half a dozen Death Eaters a day; there aren’t enough resources to waste on what he sees as an open-and-shut case.’

‘But until we find Peter’s body-’ Remus began.

‘We’ve found his finger in the middle of a smouldering crater. That’s enough to draw conclusions,’ Moody interrupted.

‘What happened to the right to a fair trial? Innocent until proven guilty?’ Remus protested.

Moody’s face appeared to be attempting a wry smile. ‘Are you sure you weren’t a Hufflepuff? Your loyalty and sense of justice are admirable, but Crouch won’t budge. You’re a known associate of Mr Black’s, even if the exact nature of your relationship has been withheld from the public. Furthermore, you are a werewolf. If you pursue this, the best you can hope for is that they send you to join the Longbottoms in Janus Thickey claiming Black had you under the Imperius Curse. At worst, they’ll cast you as a sympathiser and with Azkaban filling up at the rate it is I know there would be some within the Ministry who would see you dead,’ the auror told him bluntly.

‘So I should just give up?’ Remus asked, his voice breaking though he refused to let the tears fall.

‘I’m sorry, lad,’ Moody confirmed. ‘I need to go, Death Eaters to round up. Get well, you’re one of the good ones no matter what anybody else says.’ The auror patted him awkwardly on the shoulder before hobbling out. 

Remus spent the next few hours staring blankly at the ceiling before Pomfrey once again administered the sleeping drought. 

On Saturday, it was McGonagall who came to see him. She sat in the chair opposite his bed patiently waiting for him to wake. 

‘Good morning, Remus,’ she greeted him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Startled, he quickly moved to sit upright.

‘Good morning, Professor McGonagall,’ he replied.

McGonagall smiled affectionately before reminding him he had not been her student in over three years and as such Minerva would do just fine. His only response was to blush.

‘I apologise for not coming to see you sooner, but I have responsibilities towards my current students and Poppy’s rather protective of you,’ McGonagall explained.

‘Not so protective that Alastor Moody wasn’t allowed to visit,’ Remus countered, scowling as he remembered the auror’s warnings to stay clear of Sirius’ case.

He could not be certain, but he thought he saw a humorous glint in her eyes. ‘Albus probably bribed her.’

Remus snorted derisively in response. 

‘I take it by your reaction that it was not a pleasant visit?’

‘I can’t think of too many people who would enjoy being threatened with death for suggesting that the Ministry might want to try actually operating a functional justice system,’ Remus explained.

‘He is only trying to look out for you in his own way,’ McGonagall reasoned.

‘I know. I just, Sirius would never betray James!’ he exclaimed in frustration.

‘He has betrayed you before,’ his old head of house pointed out.

‘And people aren’t allowed to learn from their mistakes? Anyway, it’s different. I was just a friend back then; James has been his brother since Sirius left home.’

McGonagall sighed. ‘So you are willing to risk execution so that Sirius could get a trial where he may be found guilty anyway?’

‘I want to know the truth, Minerva. If he did it, I want to know why. I want to know why the werewolf gets to live when everyone else had to die,’ he told her.

‘Maybe the fact you were away with Greyback’s pack saved you, or maybe he still has residual feelings for you,’ McGonagall postulated. ‘What I know is that the Sirius Black who was my student for seven years would not want you to risk your life for the sake of the thing he has become. The Sirius Black who loved you- because I am convinced that he did- would want you to rise from the ashes of his destruction, instead of sinking further into dark obsessions of conspiracy and revenge.’

Remus emitted a bitter laugh. ‘Werewolves don’t rise,’ he stated flatly.

‘Maybe not here, but have you looked at the law in other countries?’ McGonagall asked, and Remus had the distinct impression she was leading somewhere. ‘In France for example, it is illegal for them to ask a prospective employee about their werewolf status.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I think it may be good for you to get away for a while. I have spoken to the head of Beauxbatons and it seems that their Head of Defence is looking for a new research assistant,’ McGonagall informed him. 

Remus was wary. The implications appeared too good to be true. The sudden appearance of job in a country where his lycanthropy would be no more than a medical footnote, just when he thought his life was over, seemed too convenient. His head told him that they were trying to get him out of the way, whether for his own safety or to soothe their collective conscience he could not decide. By contrast, his inner sixteen year old not yet jaded by war and loss, urged him to take it, to grab on to this chance with both hands. 

‘I have recommended you on the back of your work for the Order, and they were very impressed with your exam results. The job is yours if you want it,’ she offered.

‘What would it entail?’ he asked, curious despite himself.

‘Mainly, it would be a case of finding specimens for class demonstrations and reading the latest writings on the subject in order to find suitable texts for the students,’ McGonagall explained. 

‘I’ll think about it,’ he told her. 

McGonagall smiled, ‘I expect your answer by the end of tomorrow, Remus. Beauxbatons would like you to start on Monday,’ she replied before seeing herself out.


	3. Close the City and Tell People That Something's Coming to Call

In the end he chooses to go. He knows he is giving in, giving Dumbledore and the rest of them absolution for their betrayal of Sirius, but the fact is he cannot stand the idea of being around them and their manipulations any longer. 

No-one knows better than he how strained his relationship with Sirius was towards the end, how they barely spoke, merely using each other’s bodies to reassure themselves that they were still alive. He knows Sirius did not trust him and had openly accused him of joining the other side, but it had not occurred to him that the reason James never approached him about becoming secret keeper might have been due to Sirius campaigning against it. Whichever way Remus looked at it, Sirius was guilty of betrayal. If he had accepted the role of secret keeper, then he had betrayed his own family to the Death Eaters. If he had not and if he had counselled against using Remus, then Remus himself was the one betrayed once more. Remus refused to believe that James, who had never been a good actor, would have come for the October moon beaming at the thought of naming his unborn second child after him if he suspected Remus of being the spy. However, Remus could conceive of James opting for Peter in order to placate Sirius’ worried mind. 

He needed to get away, find some space to clear his head. He still fervently believed that Sirius deserved a trial, but maybe Moody had been right to say it was not worth risking his own life. Maybe if he campaigned from a distance, from the safety of a country where he would not be judged for what he was, then maybe Sirius and he stood a better chance of both getting out alive. He held little hope of a reconciliation and was in fact uncertain whether he desired one at all, but if Sirius was innocent, then Harry deserved the opportunity to grow up with the love and devotion of his godfather. By increasing the physical distance between them, Remus hoped he could reconcile himself to spending the rest of his life without Sirius, because he could not see how they could move beyond what had happened in order to rebuild their relationship even if Sirius got free.

So on that Sunday he told McGonagall that he would accept the offer and she smiled before offering him a case stamped with the words ‘Professor R. J. Lupin’. When he tried to refuse it on the grounds that he was not yet a professor, she ignored him, claiming he was taking his first steps and the case would serve as a reminder that he had a place in the world. He wrote a letter explaining the situation to his father and instructing him to sell the house in Manchester, putting the money earned into the Potters’ vault for Harry. Lyall responded by sending him enough clothes to get him through the week and a few books that Remus had requested as potentially useful in his new job. All of it went into the case and McGonagall went with him to the portkey, hugging him unexpectedly tight before letting go and wishing him well in his new endeavours.

He found himself halfway up a mountain and grateful for his thick cloak, a Christmas gift from Lily and James the year before. Finding no-one around he conjured his patronus, for once not too concerned about concealing its form, and sent it to alert the staff of his arrival. 

A few minutes later, he was joined by cheerful man roughly ten years older than him who introduced himself as Alexio Cabral, teacher of Defence to the school’s Portuguese students. Remus was intrigued: he knew Beauxbatons had roughly twice as many students as Hogwarts, but it had not occurred to him that the children would be divided up by nationality instead of house. Thinking it through, it made sense for the students to learn in their native languages. Alexio was all too eager to compare the similarities and differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons as he led Remus down the mountain.

He had never seen anything like it. Hogwarts had been awe-inspiring to his eleven-year old self, but Beauxbatons was something else again. What he saw in front of him was nothing short of a palace, twice the size of Hogwarts and surrounded by gardens and fountains formed out of the mountains that were all around.  
‘Impressive, is it not?’ Alexio asked him, a fond smile on his face.

Remus said nothing, merely continuing to take it all in, trying to force himself to believe that this would be his home for the rest of the school year. His awestruck expression tickled Alexio, who laughed at the look on the face of his new colleague. 

‘Come on, Ruys will be waiting,’ Alexio told him before leading him through the gardens towards the palace doors. Ruys was their boss, Diantha Ruys, head of the Defence against the Dark Arts department. 

Alexio led Remus through the gardens to the front doors, which opened automatically at their approach, letting them in to an entrance hall which seemed to be made entirely of marble. Instead of heading straight on to what he assumed would be their equivalent of the great hall, Alexio turned left, revealing stairs which had previously been hidden, and told Remus to climb them to the top. 

‘These are the staff quarters,’ Alexio explained, turning right and walking a few paces before stopping again. ‘Here we are,’ he turned, smiling towards Remus before knocking on a door which clearly stated this was Ruys’ office.

‘Come in,’ a voice called from inside so Alexio opened the door to reveal a tall, middle-aged witch in austere black robes. ‘Ah, Mr Lupin I presume?’ she asked, a small but genuine smile appearing on her face as she took in her newest member of staff. ‘Welcome to Beauxbatons.’

‘Thank you for giving me this opportunity,’ Remus responded.

‘Minerva informs me you are one of the best Defence students Hogwarts has ever produced, and I know from experience her judgement is rarely wrong.’ Ruys moved towards the far wall of her office, picking up a stack of books she had obviously collected together in anticipation of his arrival.

‘Do you know any translation charms?’ she asked him.

Remus nodded. ‘Yes, we had to learn them for Ancient Runes.’

‘Good. So your first job is to read these and decide whether they are suitable material for our students. If you can, it would be good to know what year level you think they are most suited to: be aware Beauxbatons students start at 12, so there are only six years. Once that is done, please translate them into the following languages: French, Spanish, Dutch and Portuguese. We found it makes most sense to have all the languages in the same textbook, that way we can be sure the numbers are right. One of the first spells the children learn here is the shrinking spell,’ Ruys told him conspiratorially. 

‘When do you want them done by?’ 

‘No rush, we’re only a month away from the Christmas holidays; the students will not thank us if their first present is a whole new reading list. If I could have your recommendations by the end of term, then I can surprise them in the New Year instead,’ the head of department teased. ‘Then of course, if any of my colleagues have special requests for supplies that should take priority. Alexio, would you introduce Lupin to the rest of the team?’

‘Of course,’ Alexio responded enthusiastically.

‘Good. I’ll leave you two to your explorations. Dinner is at seven in the Grand Hall and your attendance will be expected,’ Ruys warned Remus as she dismissed them.  
‘So first up we have Boniface Dubois, who teaches the Francophone kids. He’s been around the longest of any of us and probably has lots of exciting stories but he generally keeps to himself,’ Alexio warned him before knocking on the door opposite Ruys’. A round man with very little hair opened the door. Without greeting Remus, he looked him up and down before addressing Alexio.

‘Is this the new researcher?’ he asked, still focusing his attention on Alexio, who nodded in confirmation. ‘This is Remus Lupin.’

‘Lupin? How interesting. Still, one mustn’t judge. Bienvenue a Beauxbatons, Monsieur Loup,’ he concluded before shuffling back into his office and shutting the door.

‘He gets stranger every year,’ Alexio noted, shaking his head. Remus said nothing, though he could feel his cheeks were burning. Dubois had obviously seen the scars and realised what he was in an instant. He was grateful that Dubois had not screamed it out for the school to hear, until he remembered what McGonagall had told him about French attitudes to lycanthropy and how essentially, it was no-one’s business but his own.

Finally, we have Clara Serrano, who teaches the Spanish students. She’s new as well, only started in September,’ Alexio explained as he knocked on the door. The door opened and Remus was met with the smiling face and bouncing curls of the youngest Defence teacher.

‘You’re the new researcher, yes?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m Remus, it’s nice to meet you,’ he confirmed. If anything, her smile grew impossibly wider.

‘It’s good to have someone new to share in the wonder of this place, these old-timers have grown immune,’ she complained.

Alexio tutted good-naturedly at the slight, before dragging Remus away towards the room which would be his for the rest of the school year. It was bare, but Remus did not mind that, he was sure it would be filled with academic papers and all manner of strange creatures before too long. He put the books Diantha had given him on his desk.

‘And my room is the one next door if you need anything,’ Alexio concluded the mini-tour. There were still a couple of hours before he would be expected down in the Grand Hall so he thought he might as well explore the palace for a bit, go in search of the infirmary to discuss his condition with the school’s healers.

He found it on the ground floor, opening the door as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the patients, he walked up to the nurse’s office. He was greeted by one of the healers who introduced herself as Sfia Naaimi and showed him to her office. She bid him sit down and when he explained his predicament she smiled softly and reassured him that it would not be a problem: she would brew the wolfsbane potion for him ready for the week leading up to the December moon. 

Reassured, he headed back to his office and turned on his radio, hoping to find something to play in the background as he read. Annoyed to find all the French stations were playing the ‘Chicken Dance’ song, he switched to long-wave looking for an English station and was rewarded with the sound of ‘Mob Rules’. He smiled: Sabbath usually meant good things were on the horizon.


	4. How Do I Escape From You

Despite spending the last three years fighting Death Eaters, Remus was fairly confident that being introduced to two-thousand students was probably the most scared he’d ever been. All those faces and all those eyes staring at him, judging him. Could they see his scars? How many of the older students would know their significance? 

Still, if anyone beside Dubois had guessed, they kept quiet and soon wood nymphs were serenading them as they turned their attentions to the food which appeared in front of them.

He generally kept to himself; focusing on the texts he had been given. Sometimes, he did not even come down for meals. Though he read each book meticulously, he could not resist starting with the werewolf chapters, curious to see how awful they would be. Some, usually written by British or North American scholars, were just as bad as he remembered, but the European ones generally seemed more understanding and made Remus wish they had been available to him as a student at Hogwarts.

After two weeks of this, Alexio and Clara had had enough and came one Friday evening to drag him on a night out with some other teachers in the neighbouring town.

‘Clara believes you are the hero of a tragedy,’ Alexio teased him.

‘Well, I don’t know. It seems a bit odd that Diantha would talk you up as some kind of war hero and yet here you are: a virtual recluse in a foreign country. Plus, you keep listening to that song that goes “all of these things I do/ to get away from you”,’ Clara justified herself. ‘Who are you running away from?’

Remus sighed. ‘I’m not a war hero,’ he told them and to him it felt like the truth. Harry was the only true war hero: after all, he was the one to have defeated Voldemort. Remus by contrast couldn’t even tell when those closest to him had switched sides and as such was almost complicit in the death of his friends.

‘I thought I was in love for a very long time, and maybe it was real for the first few years but a couple of years ago it started to change. I was away a lot and the person I loved started accusing me of being a spy, working for Voldemort. A mutual friend tried to make me understand it was because all those closest to him eventually did become affiliated with the Death Eaters, but then that friend and his wife were killed, and my lover was found seemingly having lost their mind after killing another friend of ours. It was suggested that I might benefit from a change of scene,’ he finished, staring at his drink in order to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. 

‘I presume the use of the plural is an attempt to hide the fact your lover was a man?’ asked Max Krier, a Muggle Studies teacher from Luxembourg.

Blushing, Remus admitted that this was so. 

Max laughed. ‘No need to be ashamed on that count, even in the Muggle world homosexuality has more or less been legal in France since the time of the Revolution.’

Once again, Remus was floored by the extent to which the French seemed so much more evolved socially than their British counterparts. Why hadn’t he and Sirius considered running away across the Channel instead of staying and letting the war take everything from them? Deep down, Remus knew their Gryffindor sense of chivalry would not have allowed it, that it would have felt like they were running away from the much larger problems faced by their society.

‘So will there be a trial?’ A history teacher by the name of Iris Van der Straeten asked.

‘A trial?’ Remus asked, confused. 

‘Your lover. I assume all this happened quite recently and he’s now awaiting trial,’ she explained.

Remus shook his head. ‘No, the Ministry’s overstretched with more and more Death Eaters being caught each day and Sirius, well, they see it as an open-and-shut case.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Iris exclaimed, and most of those sat with them seemed to agree. ‘What about the gathering of evidence?’

‘His presence at the scene of Peter’s death and the fact he appeared to be laughing are enough evidence for the Ministry,’ Remus explained.

‘Couldn’t it have been shock?’ someone else asked. 

Remus needed another drink. He had moved here in order to avoid all of this and the minute he had let himself be dragged out in public, everything he had ever thought or felt concerning Sirius and the end of the war had been brought up to be dissected and discussed as if it was nothing more than an intellectual exercise.

‘So, what are all our plans for the Christmas holidays?’ Alexio asked, obviously aware of his colleague’s discomfort. He placed a comforting hand on Remus’ shoulder and Remus smiled weakly at him, grateful for the gesture. The rest of the teachers obliged, enthusiastically discussing trips to faraway locations and grateful for the time away from troublesome students. Remus himself would be staying and playing host to his father, who had been quite excited at the prospect of exploring Remus’ new home.

The rest of the evening passed quite cheerfully and on the whole Remus was grateful for the opportunity to get to know his colleagues outside of the school environment. He was quite glad to note that his story had not changed how they saw him and was generally left alone as his own personal matter.

That changed one week before the Christmas break, when a copy of the ‘Daily Prophet’ appeared in his cubby hole with the ‘Letters to the Editor’ section highlighted. There was a letter expressing outrage at the lack of due judicial process in evidence in post-war Britain, most notably in relation to the case of one Sirius Black. Remus had no doubt the ‘Concerned Observer’ was one of his colleagues. It was not in his nature to go charging around asking who was responsible, but he fervently hoped the upcoming Christmas celebrations would mean this letter would get ignored. If anyone were to respond and thereby create a fuss around Sirius’ plight, the likelihood was that aurors would be asked to investigate and when the trail would inevitably lead back to Beauxbatons, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were not going to ask too many questions before sending the hit wizards to capture him as a dark wizard sympathiser. He knew his attitude was selfish and cowardly, but what was the point of moving all the way to France to escape Sirius if his partner’s spirit kept haunting him even as his body rotted away each day in Azkaban? Why, having shown how little he understood Remus, should Remus keep trying to understand Sirius?

Because Remus loved him still.


	5. Stop Apologising for the Things You've Never Done

Looking back, he considered it a minor miracle that he managed to avoid any trouble from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for as long as he did. Only in June, once the Beauxbatons academic year was almost over, did they come for him. At the time, he had thought it cruel that they chose precisely the moment where he thought he might actually be able to do this, to move on and have a life removed from the horrors of his past, to come and shatter him once more.

It all began with a rather forceful knocking on his office door.

‘Lupin, open up,’ a gruff voice he would be able to recognise anywhere called. 

Remus hurried to obey. Opening the door, he was only mildly surprised to see Moody, accompanied by a tall young man Remus had never met before.

‘Hello, Alastor,’ he greeted. He offered his hand to the younger man, who took it willingly, as if this was no more than a social call.

‘This is my new trainee, Kingsley Shacklebolt,’ Moody introduced them. ‘We’ve been sent to have a little chat with you about a number of interesting letters the Ministry’s been receiving from this part of the world.’

The blood drained from Remus’ face. He had spent most of January anticipating something like this happening after his colleagues stated their intention to protest Sirius’ unlawful imprisonment, but as time passed and he heard nothing more, he had made the mistake of forgetting all about it. 

‘Oh God, Alastor. I’m so sorry. People ask questions, you know? I might have told some colleagues about me and Sirius and how it all ended and I may have complained that because he never got a trial I’ll never know if he did it. Some of them seemed pretty upset about it but it’s been months and I hadn’t heard anything so I thought it had all been forgotten,’ he began to protest.

‘Hundreds of letters would suggest otherwise,’ Shacklebolt deadpanned. ‘The Minister was not amused.’

Remus was confused. If the DMLE thought he was sympathising with a Death Eater, he faced a long stretch in Azkaban at the very least. If they felt like being thorough for once, and knowing his luck they probably would, it would not require too much effort to find his record at the Werewolf Registry, at which point it was possible that they might decide even Azkaban was too good for the likes of him and opt for execution instead. This was the reason Moody and Dumbledore had suggested he flee in the first place, and now it was all happening regardless.

‘Stop apologising, lad,’ Moody soothed him. His words and the whole situation made Remus think of the song ‘A Town Called Malice’ although he knew better than to say so out loud.

Moody continued speaking. ‘I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not so daft as to start a protest in Black’s favour, even with the Channel between you and the authorities. You’re lucky I’ve still got some clout at the Ministry, there were a few complaints when I snatched this case from under the Hit Wizard’s noses. Some of them were quite looking forward to getting their hands on you.’

Remus gulped. ‘Why? Is it the werewolf thing?’

Shacklebolt shrugged. ‘For some, but most haven’t looked beyond the rumours that you and Black were intimate. They figure that you must have been in on his plan to kill Pettigrew and the Potters. After all, you’re the only one left, aren’t you?’

‘I wasn’t!’ Remus almost screamed. ‘Sirius and I, we were barely speaking by the end.’ 

Moody said nothing, merely fixing Remus with his prosthetic eye until the latter had calmed down sufficiently.

‘Why do you think I wanted to take your case? We’re on your side. I brokered a deal with Minister Bagnold that if you were willing to accept a form of indefinite house arrest, they would leave you alone. All your correspondence will be checked and if anything is seen as suspect, I’m not sure they’ll listen to me twice, but it’s the best I could do,’ he explained calmly.

All the fight went out of Remus. ‘You’re saying if I come back to Britain and stay at home like a good boy and don’t talk to anyone, they’ll leave me alone?’ It meant living a life that was less than half-full, always on edge in case he put a foot wrong and wound up under the executioner’s axe, but what choice did he realistically have? A year ago, he would have fought such a fate with everything he had in him, but a year ago, he had friends and a lover and hope that maybe the world could learn to accept him. 

‘That’s the long and short of it, yeah,’ Shacklebolt confirmed. 

‘Tell me Alastor, what was the point of colluding with Dumbledore and McGonagall to save my life, if I’m to spend the rest of it in hiding?’

‘Despite what the rest of our society might think of you, I know who you are. You are not a coward, Lupin. You would not burden a young child such as Harry with the guilt of your death. Dumbledore cannot keep him from our world forever, and when the time comes and he has questions about his parents, about who they were and what they stood for, who else will be able to tell him?’ Moody reasoned.

Remus’ heart cried out Sirius’ name. Sirius should have been the one to raise Harry and tell him about his wonderful parents. He knew better than to say this out loud though. 

‘Have I got time to say my goodbyes?’ he asked.

Moody nodded.

He should have thought to ask whether they had been told why he was being dragged back home before the end of the school year, but the question was answered almost as soon as he knocked on Clara’s door. It swung open with force and she threw herself into his arms.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she told him. ‘I thought we were doing something good.’

He patted her on the back in an awkward attempt to reassure her. ‘You are, but they’re not ready to hear it yet.’ He did not tell her that the Ministry had probably been watching him all along, just waiting for him to fall. 

‘I guess this means you won’t be staying in touch?’ she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘I can’t, it’s part of the deal,’ he explained, his voice trembling in turn. 

Thankfully, his leave-taking with the rest of his colleagues was much less emotional. Diantha promised she would write him a glowing reference, though he wondered how much use it would prove to him when his options were so limited anyway. 

Soon enough, all his farewells were done and Moody was holding out the Portkey to take him back to Britain. Victory seemed very hollow indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's still reading this I'm so so so sorry it's been so long...


End file.
